(Also included is the second part, hinted before from my good friend Gray Nicholls
with the second part of his poem 'The Great War' simply called 'The Great War II')
XVI (A)
Unreproved, unwound
Back to the beginning
Chewed up in pieces
Of broken tape
Pentrating
Different languages
Signalling contempt
Drowned in love
Erotic in memory
Carrying revenge in breath
Trudging slowly
To the end of the tunnel
Waiting patiently
For the perfect moment to strike
Watching as another body
Is lifted out of the water.
XVI (B)
The first
two kills
Were
senseless
And left
him
Unaware
what he had done
Blood-red
starred
With
their screams
Like a
hushed theatre,
The third
cried
And
weeped however
Shipwrecked
into
Their own
nightmare
Cursing
him all
The way
to death
Moving
his toes
Tickling
the pavement
Digging
in open air
Asking
him
What the
fuck
Was he
And
looking at himself
In the
reflection
He didn’t know. ***
The Great War II
Drained
of blood
The
second great war
At the
start of the 20th century
With
dozens of them
Found
dead
All the
way down Oxford Road
And
clotted all the way
Down the
ship canal
Moored up
tight
Against
the old workhouses
In a
gangland style
Mass
killing,
Laid up
with the occasional
Snapped
fang
Which
turned to dust
If left
in the sunlight
Too long.
No comments:
Post a Comment